Saturday, May 20

In the back room where a ray of lighthas penetrated the vine-covered windowthe green curtain that partsonto the circular gardenyou dip your hands into a basin of waterand they blur awayonly the lines from your upturned palms remainfloating for an instantrearranging themselvesa map etched in disappearing inkto guide you for the rest of your lifeor until you leave this addresswhichever comes first